Fault

Part 19

Fallon Connelly 2:33 p.m.

Ry-Ann is where I left her when I emerge from the liquor store with her brother in my arms. The alcohol that coats his skin and clothes makes him slide down until I adjust my grip. At the sight of his sister, the boy reaches out to her with that reckless abandon that only little kids have, and the shift in his weight almost makes me drop him. Ry-Ann's face finally twists with emotion, a startling mix of surprise and joy.

She lets go of the purse strap and runs to us while the boy jerks out of my grasp, forcing me to clumsily set his feet to the ground. Ry-Ann wraps her thin arms around him. The scene cements my feet to sidewalk.

Cal, white knuckling the straps on his backpack, steps out of the building and joins me.

I'm not sure if he saw the mother, because as I soon as I had ahold of the boy I made for the door, my shoes slipping in my haste.

"What do we do now?" I ask him.

He looks into my eyes for several seconds before his lips form words.

"We take them with us. Find the rest of their family."

"Yeah," I nod, "yeah, that's what we'll do." My hands shake as I adjust the bandages around them. There is a stinging as the alcohol has soaked through and has settled into my cuts. I can't help thinking the sting should hurt more, that it should bring me to my knees.

"Are you okay, Fallon? I mean..." Cal's voice trails off.

I'm as unsure about my answer as he is about how to end that sentence. How can anyone be okay after seeing that? As the two kids cry they collapse to the sidewalk and I'm overwhelmed with the wish to join them. I want to crawl inside this grief and live there, to fold up and give in, letting the world forge on without me.

But then there's my dad, waiting for me somewhere beyond this. And Mom. Is she alive? Is her slender form folded under metal shelves? These kids. They must have family somewhere, and right now Cal and I are all they have to lead them to safety. I lock my knees and stay upright. Ry-Ann, her cheeks wet, rises from the sidewalk holding the boy's hand. She reaches back and grabs the strap of the grey purse and it drags behind her as they walk to where we stand. The sound of a distant helicopter's propellers reverberates off the nearby buildings. They stop in front of us, with the boy staring curiously at Cal. Ry-Ann watches me as I watch her.

"I thought he was..." she starts.

I nod, wanting her to realize that not only do I understand what she is trying to say, I understand much more than that. Ry-Ann's bottom lip quivers.

"What's your brother's name?" I ask, kneeling.

"Justin," the boy says softly, half hidden by Ry-Ann.

"Justin, Ry-Ann," I repeat, looking from one to the other. I try to force a smile on my face but am momentarily afraid that I've forgotten how. "I'm Fallon and this is Cal. We were just at the doctor. Would you like us to take you there?"

"No shot!" Justin exclaims, startling all of us. It's a reaction so normal for a little kid that I almost laugh.

Ry-Ann hushes him and looks back up at me. "Thanks, but we're good."

Still holding his hand and the purse, they turn from us and start walking up the street in the same direction we were already going. I see Cal about to say something, probably calling for the kids to wait up, and I wave my hand to stop him. He gives me a questioning look but falls in step beside me as I walk a couple yards behind Ry-Ann and Justin.

We couldn't force them to go with us. I try to imagine myself in Ry-Ann's shoes, to imagine what finding your mom dead would feel like at such a young age. If she handled her mother's addiction in any way similar to me, losing her is the ultimate sign that you've lost control of the situation. You get through each day by pretending that the little things you have control over, dumping her bottles in the sink or taking care of her when she comes home, are signs that you have more influence over the circumstances than you actually do. Right now, Ry-Ann needs to feel in control of something.

We follow them at a distance until they get to the end of the block, where she pauses and seems to assess her options. When I see her head tilt up I know she's watching the dark smoke pouring out into the sky and probably wondering about the state of her home. It's certainly all I can think about when I see the sky darkening hours before sunset.

"Where do you live?" I ask, coming up beside her.

"We took a bus," she says, pointing to the bus shelter across the intersection. Again I'm reminded that this is a little girl, who might very well have no idea how to get home on foot.

"Well, the buses aren't running anymore today," I say, thinking of the gridlock downtown. "But I think you're going the same way as us. We could all walk together if you want."

Justin looks from me to his sister. She studies me carefully, just as she did when I first walked up to her outside the store.

"We'll walk with you some," she finally decides.

I breathe a small sigh of relief when we start walking again, this time as a group.